Candy Shop: Off the Clock
by CSI Clue
Summary: It's vacation time at the Shop and plans are being made.
1. Chapter 1

To: Henry

From: Mr. Peppermint

Re: Tickets to Cairo

Henry:

I know you already have the dates booked for my vacation, but I forgot to mention that I'd like to stay at the Mena House Oberoi again. One of the concierges there, Mr. Lindon, already had my preferences and itinerary on record, so that should facilitate the reservation.

Thanks,

Mr. P—

00oo00oo00

To: Henry

From: Jelly Bean

Re: Va-cay in Rio!

Henry, dude—

I'm down for de Janeiro, right? Nightlife, fleshpots, rounded nubile women with itty-bitty bikinis---oooohyeah. I need to know what vaccinations to get before I go, and the name of a good local bail bondsman just in case—don't want a repeat of what happened in Cape town and Reykjavik , you know? (Tokyo doesn't count since they never proved it, and anyone could have annoyed that Sumo wrestler.) Thanks, you're the best—

JB

00oo00oo00

To: Henry

From: Gum Drop

Re: Lawrence Welk Cruise

Mother and I need to know if you've got us booked for the cruise yet. Actually, Mother wants to know, and I plan on having an emergency at the last minute, so I can make the Creation Con in San Jose without her this year. You did get me a suite on the Con Guests floor, right?

Gum Drop

00oo00oo00

To: Henry

From: Jaw Breaker

Re: Great Texas Birding Classic

Hey Henry,

I know this is late notice man, but could you upgrade my reservation in Port Arthur for two people? I've got someone special I want to take along this time. Don't worry about an extra ticket—I already registered her and myself online for the Big Sit, so we're good there.

Thanks,

Jaw Breaker

PS Usual deal right? Four jars of my mom's homemade salsa Warrick doesn't find out my vacation plans.

00oo00oo00

To: Henry

From: Licorice

Re: Madam Renault's

Henry:

Thanks for wrangling that weeklong blues gig for me with Slide and Richie J. over at Madam Renault's. I owe you big-time, seriously. Let me know what I can do for you when I get back from New Orleans.

Licorice

00oo00oo00

To: Henry

From: Miss Chocolate

Re: Paris

Dear Henry,

I'm going to be delayed for a few days—the only time the dry dock can take on a yacht the size of the _Boston Bohemian_ is right before your booking, so if you could pleeeease push back my reservation by about three days I'd appreciate it. Just leave the tickets in my name at the airline gate.

Thanks very much,

Miss Chocolate

00oo00oo00

To: Henry

From: Sugar Daddy

Re: Costa Rica

The resort called and said that they're willing to take dogs if we can prove the furball's had all his vaccinations including Bordatella, which he has. They also confirmed the four tickets for the rain forest tour and the moonlight concert with Javier Miranda. Thanks for booking all that along with the hotel, Henry; I appreciate it.

S. Daddy

00oo00oo00

To: Henry

From: Bubble Gum

Re: Creation Con, San Jose

Thanks for the reservation and special Cabaret Night tickets, Henry! I'll see if I can get you Marina Sirtis' autograph along with that filk tape you wanted. And remember, not a WORD to Gum Drop—I'm not going to have that annoying tagalong blow my chances at the Masquerade again.

Th'Gum!

00oo00oo00

To: Henry

From: Miss Lollipop

Re: Unused Vacation days

Dear Henry:

Accounting tells me you've accrued nearly a month of vacation days and you need to use them up before the end of the fiscal year. Please book some time for yourself before you lose your benefits or your sanity—we can't afford to replace you, dear!

Let Cotton Candy know when you'd like to get out of here and have a lovely trip—Cancun is nice this time of year.

Miss L—

00oo00oo00

Grissom allowed himself a moment to breathe. He looked out across the glittering expanse of Lake Mead and to the distant, elegant image of the _Boston Bohemian_ gliding across it, sails full and curving in the haze of the afternoon. The sunlight glittered on the water in spattered gleams, and through the binoculars he could see Miss Chocolate on deck, confident and lean in her bare feet and tiny shorts as she worked the lines.

Along the main mast of the _Bohemian_, the United States yacht ensign was snapping in the wind, bright and cheerful. High above it, at the top of the sails a sweet little burgee fluttered in the breeze, and seeing it, Grissom smiled so hard his face hurt.

The swallow-tailed pennant showed a field of diagonal red stripes on a white background, and laid over those, a heart, in rich deep brown. The little flag was a beautiful piece of work, elegant and simple, but eye-catching as well; the personal declaration it made left him aching in body and soul. Grissom studied it for a moment longer, then made his way down the path towards the beach far below, shifting his backpack to a more comfortable angle across his shoulders. It would take him half an hour to descend to the beach, if he didn't stumble.

By the time he reached the beach, the _Bohemian_ was already turning into the cove and making her way towards the little dock. Grissom strode out to the end of it, and watched with admiration as Miss Chocolate brought the yacht alongside the pier and tossed him a line. He snagged it with one hand, looking at her and fighting the urge to grin.

She had already given in herself, smiling broadly as she locked the wheel. "Hey."

"Hey. Looks like you didn't have any trouble finding the place."

"Nope." She deftly tossed him the other line, and Grissom wrapped it into place, securing the half-hitch with professional pride. He looked over at her standing on the deck and cleared his throat, feeling a little foolish and very eager.

"May I . . . . board?"

"Grissom—" she smiled, beckoning him forward, and as he stepped onto the deck it dawned on him she'd called him by name. The warmth in his stomach spread, and he moved to her, scooping her into his arms.

_Sara_, he thought with dizzy pleasure, and kissed her. It was a slow kiss, with both of them moving in restrained little nuzzles against each other's mouths, warming up into a deep, sweet very reciprocated embrace. Breaking off, he kept her close and lightly kissed her ear.

"I missed you. I had no idea I would miss you so much."

"The feeling is very mutual," she assured him, her long arms still wrapped around his shoulders. "You've been on my mind the whole time, you know."

"Worried about me?" Grissom murmured, enjoying the taste of her skin. She laughed gently.

"A little. You're pretty unforgettable you know—"

Grissom shifted to look at her, but she cupped his face in her cool hands and they drifted into another kiss, this one slightly more aggressively delicious as each of them tried to take control. Finally Sara yielded, moaning a little as Grissom circled his tongue around hers and gripped her ass tightly. He broke away wetly to smirk at her.

"Mine."

"Oh yeah?" she smirked back, and slid her hands to his rump, squeezing hard. "Mine."

"We're very possessive," Grissom mused, bending to lick her throat.

"Let's get naked," Sara replied.

"Phone."

"What?"

"Give. Me. Your. Phone," Grissom growled softly. Sara pulled away and fished out her cell, handing it to him, her face confused. He took it, and tossed it over his shoulder; it fell into the depths of Lake Mead with a bubbly 'bloop.'

Sara blinked. "Um . . ."

He pressed his index finger to her lips, silencing her. "No interruptions. No calls, no Candy Shop—nothing but the two of us, the water and the sky, Frango my love. I don't care if the rest of the universe goes up in a supernova . . . we've been good to duty, and now there is only us."

The entire time he whispered this, Grissom leaned closer until his lips rested along her temple. Sara hugged him tightly, shuddering at the sweet impact of his words. He felt the wet trickle of her tears against his cheek and hugged her more closely.

"I love you."

It came from both of them at almost at the same time, and for a moment they both smiled. Sara shifted to shoot Grissom a sidelong gaze.

"Come to bed."

"With pleasure."

She moved to the ladder, but Grissom caught her arm and pulled her towards the main mast, pressing her against it and kissing her hard once more. It wasn't a tender kiss this time; this one burned against her mouth and stole her breath.

"But . . . please--show me. Show me ALL of you Sara, I want to see you, want to watch you so much—" he breathed softly in her face, his blue eyes full of desire and wicked challenge as he stepped back from her a bit.

"Here? Out in the open?" she blurted, looking around the little empty cove.

Grissom nodded, his expression intense. "Ever since that phone call I've been picturing you in my head . . . God, the images I've thought of—"

Sara slowly grinned. She slid her hands into her shorts, pushing them from her hips, letting them slide down over her thighs and calves until they rested on her feet.

Grissom swallowed hard.

With deliberate slowness she stepped free of the shorts and lifted her chin, eyes half closed as she struggled with the hot waves of desire pulsing wickedly through her stomach and straight between her legs. Sara rubbed her hands over her breasts, her shirt sagging around her shoulders as she did. Mesmerized, Grissom watched her fingers slide around her breasts; toy brazenly with her hard nipples. Sara gave a strangled sigh.

"Damn it, Grissom me too. Every night I'd lie in bed and touch myself, thinking about you. About your body, remembering how your tongue tasted—" she taunted. Grissom's hands slid along the muscles on the front of his thighs even as he stared at her. Sara shifted her hips, her touch slow and moving south as she spoke again, her voice throaty and wild.

"Drove myself crazy. I'd rub myself, tease myself and the noises I made—begging you, ordering you to kiss me there, lick and suck me—" her fingers glided down into the forest of dark curls between her thighs, raking through the thick down. Grissom groaned.

His broad hands fumbled as he yanked open his straining fly. Freed, his erection swelled forth, flushed and dripping as he gripped it. His blue eyes glittered with a searing lust, and Sara felt a little animal whimper come out of her throat at the sight of him standing there out in the open, so swollen for her. Her hands slid lower, and she widened her stance.

"Watch me—like this, baby. I'd caress and play with my hot little self, feel the honey dripping out of me." Sara taunted. Her fingers glided in loving strokes, lasciviously toying along her glistening cleft, massaging it delicately. Grissom's hand tightened on himself. Sara sighed, licking her lips. The utterly insane excitement of pleasuring herself here on the deck while Grissom watched her was pushing her very close to the edge, and she began to move her fingers faster, savouring the erotic power over him.

"Come closer—" He hissed.

She shook her head, smiling up at him.

For a long moment they stood locked in a sensual duel for dominance, neither one willing to submit. Sara felt her stomach begin to tighten as she started the slow hot tumble towards mindless release. Her fingers danced faster.

Grissom moved like a striking snake. His big hot hands caught her bare hips and yanked her forward to slam up against the iron bar of his shaft. Instinctively she reached to balance herself, her own hands flying to Grissom's shirt covered shoulders, snagging the thin cotton. Sara hissed as the underside of his burning shaft slid wetly, perfectly up between the slick folds of her sex, gliding on top of the hard little button she'd been caressing. Grissom threw his head back and the heavy groan that rose out of his throat was just enough to tip her over the edge.

Sara came, hard.

Grissom bucked his hips, stroking himself against her, his shaft trapped between their grinding bodies. The moment spun out in a tangle of heated friction so shockingly intense it hovered on the edge of pain. Sara's head lolled as she clung to Grissom, her fingers digging through his shirt. His voice was wet and hot in her face as he pushed her up against the cold metal of the mast.

"I'm going to . . . God, I'm going to, so HARD and I'm not even IN you—" he grunted, furious at his straining sweaty erection. Gently cupping the nape of her neck, Grissom urged Sara to look down, to watch the passionate tango of their hips. She shuddered under the force of his thrusts. With a long growl of surrender, Grissom shuddered, thick spurts gushing between his stomach and hers, slick and hot and seemingly endless.

They barely managed to stay standing, swaying together; Grissom locked his arms around Sara's small waist and dropped his mouth to her shoulder. She clung to him, lost for a time in the smells, the feel of Grissom in her arms here in the open air.

They made their way down into the yacht, quietly; swiftly. Grissom followed Sara to the bathroom and they showered up in the tiny space, wrapped up in each other. When they toweled off, Grissom pulled Sara onto him as they tumbled to the mattress in the main cabin. They held each other for a long contented time as they lay listening to the water lapping against the hull.

Sara hummed.

"You sound pleased," he broke the silence in a low tone. She shifted to look up at him in the dim light filtering through the portholes smiling with a rare sweetness, her long dark hair tousled.

"Close to it—" Sara agreed.

"Oh? And what small stumbling block mars the serenity of this second, sweetheart?" he challenged her softly, reaching up to brush his fingertips over the smooth curve of her cheek, trailing them down her chin.

"Perfection will be when you're IN me—deep and slow all night. THAT will be worth living for."

His blue eyes shone, and through the depths she found the glimmer that was hers alone.

"Striving for perfection is always a worthy goal—" he remarked, shifting so she could feel the heat of his stocky body, the eager thrust of his rising shaft against her thigh. Sara flicked a tongue over her lips, feeling the restless ache of need building between her thighs once more. She raised her face to his, and for a moment caught the shadow of another expression there, a lonely longing one.

Swiftly she moved to kiss it away.

"Lay it aside, whatever it is, Grissom—it will wait until tomorrow," she urged him as her hands moved to his shoulders, pulling him down to her. His firm mouth descended on hers. The slow rise of passion was deep, profound. Sara kept her eyes open, drinking him in, his muscles, his scars, his restless hunger. Grissom moved slowly but not gently, his need for her blatantly unapologetic. When Sara lazily lifted her hips, he seized them and thrust hard, his big frame pinning hers under him onto the cool sheets.

She lost herself in the intimate cocoon of the moment, licking his sweat as it rolled down his throat, cradling him in her hips as they rocked together.

Dimly she knew he was making love to her soul as much as her body, and that insight sent a hot shudder that left her weak and close to tears. Grissom held back longer than she thought any man could, and when he finally came, it was relentless and scalding and deep enough to fulfill her craving.


	2. Chapter 2

Reggie smiled, looking out over the penguin pool. The birds were huddled in a few groups here and there in the frosty compound beyond the glass, looking like guests at a cocktail party, waiting for the caterer to come around with trays of canapés and drinks. Next to her, Sam lounged against the rail, smirking a little.

"How anybody can wear a tux twenty-four seven is beyond me. Hard enough to keep a tie on in this weather."

"You look wonderful in a tux, Samuel, even if you do fidget in it," Portia murmured gently. She was decked out in a pale cream Egyptian cotton pantsuit and a big straw hat. Next to her, Reggie was in a light pink sundress, and had her hair tied back with a matching scarf.

Sam looked over at the two of them and made a face. "I fidget because you insist on the real thing with starched shirts and cufflinks and cummerbunds, Portia. Maybe Cary Grant was used to them, but not me."

"Cary hated them too, but he knew panache," Portia commented with a little knowing smile as she looked at Sam in his jeans and green Henley. She glanced at the brochure in her hand. "We have just enough time to see the cheetahs before my lunch with the trustees. Shall we?"

Both Reggie and Sam nodded, shooting each other quick surreptitious glances and smiling as they followed behind the elegant woman.

It was now their fifth date, and once Portia was safely delivered to her luncheon they'd be free to explore the rest of the zoo together without their chaperone. The arrangement was unique, slightly formal and to Sam's way of thinking a sweet torture made bearable by Reggie's shy enthusiasm.

So much had happened since Portia's tumble down the escalator at the hands of Rafe, and out of it all emerged two concrete facts: Reggie did indeed love him back, and Portia was pleased with this revelation.

Sam remembered the first conversation between the three of them shortly after the accident. Portia had summoned them both in and made them sit on either side of her bed as she crocheted, not looking at either of them.

"_Samuel Vartann, did I hear you correctly when you bellowed your devotion to my secretary to the second story of the mall yesterday?"_

"_Yes Ma'am."_

_A pause. Then—_

"_Regina Owens, I believe the ball is in your court—anything to say, my dear?"_

"_Um . . . I believe the feeling is mutual, Miss Richmond."_

"_Formal! Well, if the two of you are so cautiously enthralled with each other, I think we ought to do something about that. Are either of you adverse to some . . . advice?"_

"_Advice is good," Reggie spoke up. Sam let her—best to hear what Portia had in mind before commenting._

"_Very well then. You know my feelings on the matter, right down to the possibility of babies, but I want to make it clear that in terms of your relationship that your lives are your own. I love you both dearly, and no matter what happens between the two of you that won't change. "_

"_Portia—" Sam tried to speak up but his voice was slightly choked. She shook her head and glanced up, her eyes bright._

"_Tush. I just wanted to make it clear that no matter what I want, these are your lives, and I respect that. I'll give you time and privacy to pursue this mutual development. All I ask is that you be good to each other—ultimately it's all any of us can truly do in this world, eh?"_

It has been terrific advice, and Sam appreciated it more than he could actually say. He and Reggie had gone to dinner, had taken in a few movies and gone to a carnival so far. He'd gotten to hold her hand and argue and laugh with her, talk about more than just Portia and Las Vegas . . . and under all that was that wonderful physical attraction that simmered and flared. Their first kiss, which was supposed to have been light, sweet little thing had quickly morphed into a heated tangle of lips, tongues and hands. Sam was thrilled to realize Reggie truly did desire him in her own shy way.

Life was good.

And, Sam considered, it was about to get much better, if he had anything to say about it. Portia's lunch would take most of the afternoon, and she'd probably want a nap before dinner, so that meant a good five hours with Reggie close at hand.

Possibly IN hand.

Catching the smirk on his face, Reggie shot him a sidelong look of smoky promise, and Sam cleared his throat, wondering if the Great Ape Enclosure was dark enough for necking in.

00oo00oo00

Sara smirked. The frustrated expression on Grissom's face was worth it; he looked both baffled and intrigued, with a fair dose of arousal mixed in as well. They lay on the rumpled coverlet of the bunk, enjoying the quiet peace of the mid-morning, listening to the lapping of the waves on the shore and enjoying the soft rocking of the boat.

Sara pulled the silk robe sash across her bare thigh. "I've just got skinny wrists and patience. In the job we do, that's sort of a plus. Twice I've gotten out of being tied up just because the people doing the knots were in a hurry."

"You've been tied up—twice—on cases?" he demanded, a little dangerous glint in his eyes. Sara's smirk widened into a gentle smile.

"Gil . . . nobody comes into the Shop without . . . a past, right? Much as we all like to feel good about what we're doing, in reality, all of us are broken badges." She shrugged. "We're people who burned out on the frustration and bitterness of being held back by the legal system of this country."

Grissom nodded, his expression becoming slightly bleak. "True. All of us are . . . clients of Doctor Marazek, or at least started out that way. But getting back to your wrists . . . " he murmured, taking one of her hands and pulling it to his lips, " . . . I'm just impressed with your . . . escapology. I'll think twice before accepting another bet from you—although I'm sure I can come up with something you can't get out of."

Sara arched one beautiful eyebrow at him. "Oh really? So what are the stakes?"

This time Grissom smirked, propping himself up on one elbow. He let his admiring gaze moved along the sweet slopes and curves of Sara's languid body before looking her in the eyes again.

"I want a painting of you—"

She laughed.

"—In chocolate," he finished. Sara rolled over on her stomach and stared at him, intrigued.

"Chocolate," she echoed, a hint of polite disbelief in her voice.

Grissom nodded. "In fact, I'm so confident that I can devise something you can't escape from out of materials right here on the _Bohemian_ that I should probably order the canvas and painting materials right now."

"Oh you're on Mr. Peppermint," Sara growled in a husky tone. "Although I think we better make clear just what the limitations and ah, restrictions are, so to speak. You're not going to drop a garbage bag over me and call it a victory you know."

Grissom nodded. "Lay out your rules then, while I get us some coffee and muffins."

00oo00oo00

Jelly Bean looked out over the crowded holding cell at the shapely young woman making her way towards him. She had a briefcase and a very annoyed look on her face, so that meant she HAD to be his attorney. He flashed his most winning smile at her, and it would have gone over better if he wasn't covered in fish scales and shrimp tails.

"Ms . . . . Oh my God it's you" he breathed, both delighted and mortified. "How the hell did you get here?"

Miss Lemon Drop looked over the top of her sunglasses at him and gave a sigh. "If you must know I was a guest at the Governor's Spring Fundraiser for the Pan American Games. Then I get a redirected call from Henry that takes me away from my cozy banquet with the beautiful rich people of Rio de Janeiro so that I can bail you out."

"It's not my fault," Jellybean protested automatically. "Really. I got lost on one of the beachfront streets and asked this girl to show me back to my hotel and somehow my Portuguese isn't up to snuff so she wanted some money which I declined to give her and then her two uncles showed up and accused me of SERIOUS improprieties with the young lady in question which I would NEVER do but they believed anyhow and loaded me onto a fishing boat with the full intent of anchoring me to the bottom of the bay but I managed to get out and swim to shore where got caught in a fishing net and made this guy lose his whole morning's catch and he had me arrested. Very simple, really."

During this entire recital Jelly Bean continued to pick fish bits out of his hair while trying to smile. Lemon Drop rolled her eyes.

"Ever thought of vacationing in the USA? Because given your history of international incidents I think you need to stick to places closer to home."

"Nah, I'm Jelly Bean, International man of mystery, you know? Bombay, Saipan, Oslo, Liechtenstein—"

Lemon Drop waved under her nose. "—Yes, all the major countries of intrigue. Come on, let's get your bail paid and stick you in a hot shower with baking soda. Maybe I can still make dinner at the Plaza if we hurry."

Jelly Bean sighed. "Is this going on my permanent record? Because I'm going to need another rebuttal sheet—"

Lemon Drop patted her briefcase in a resigned way.

00oo00oo00

The round little woman in the pink polyester pantsuit, her frizzy grey hair held back by a visor looked ready to cry, her chubby chin quivering. Gum Drop sighed a little, and shrugged. "I'm sorry mom, but duty calls. I'm the ONLY one they can trust with evidence this vital, and you know how important the job is."

"I know Davey, I know, but I was SO looking forward to shuffleboard and Karaoke Night with you! I packed the costumes for Twin Day, and even brought an extra set of fluffy jam-jams for you so you wouldn't get cold on the water!" she wailed softly.

Gum Drop mentally gnashed his teeth. He drew a breath. "I'm sorry you went to so much trouble, but I did say I might have to cancel if I was needed. Aunt Carole's going to meet us here, right?"

"Yes. She's coming. I just hope she's over that nasty rash of hers, and remembers to bring her Dramamine. Oh Davey, isn't there any way you can get out of this case?" his mother pleaded, her eyes moist.

Gum Drop drew himself up and sighed dramatically. "I could Mom—but could we live with the consequences of that choice, really?"

His mother threw her chubby arms around him and hugged him tightly, engulfing him in a wave of White Shoulders and breath mints. After a few seconds, he hugged her back, feeling both guilty and loving. She was a good mom, if a little needy sometimes, but his aunt would definitely be better company, and in any case, the cruise was about to leave anyway. He pulled himself out of her hug as a tall woman with a huge straw hat and goggle sunglasses came up to them, smiling.

"Edith! Davey! Looks like I didn't miss the boat!" came her brassy tone. "Let's get up that gangplank and check out the sailor boys, Whoo!"

Gum Drop accepted her hug too, hoping she didn't crack vertebrae on him, and followed behind the two women, discreetly checking his watch—plenty of time to see the boat here off in LA and make the flight to San Jose for tomorrow. Plenty of time.

00oo00oo00

Jaw Breaker swallowed hard. He had his bird guide, logbook, his binoculars, his campstool and his water bottle; everything to make bird-watching comfortable much more. But he wasn't watching birds, no, he was watching Miss Starr Jankowitz apply sunscreen up and down her long, tanned legs, fingers caressing the beautifully highlighted muscles from ankle to upper thigh at the edge of her tiny khaki shorts.

"Nick? You okay?" she asked, glancing at him. He flashed a dazzling grin up at her, teeth white.

"Just . . . admiring the view. You've got the kind of legs Rod Stewart used to sing about."

She waved a lanky hand at him, flattered and embarrassed. "oh please."

"Nah, they're gorgeous, really. And I like to think I'm an authority on legs."

This earned in a slightly peeved glare; Jaw Breaker shook his head a little. "Now Starr, not like that—but Vegas is a town full of showgirls. It's not like I haven't seen a few in my day."

"I bet" she replied, but more good-naturedly now. "You're supposed to be looking for goshawks and osprey right now—"

Jaw Breaker's smile widened, his dimple deep. "I only brought one camp stool—maybe you better come sit in my lap."

Starr laughed, deep and throaty. "Nick Stokes, if I sit on your lap, we're going to end up doing bad, bad things to each other and won't get any birds spotted at all!"

He reached up to grip her thin wrist and tug her down; she giggled and came willingly. Jaw Breaker kissed her ear before whispering in it. "I see two plovers and a red-winged blackbird. Sit right here and I'll show you---"

00oo00oo00

Licorice lay back on the bed, smelling the wonderful perfume of café au lait and fresh beignets drifting through the open French windows. The faint sounds of laughter echoed as well, and even with closed eyes, he smiled, breathing in the beautiful scents on the cool morning air.

A warm hand sleepily slid up his bare thigh under the sheet, curving inward along the lean muscles to brush, lightly, against his thickening shaft. Licorice grinned. "Lydia, don't start what you can't finish, woman—"

Into his ear came a sweet low giggle. "Come on, Warrick mon cher, you know five is a lucky number."

He let his grin turn into a full smile and rolled towards her, scooping the rounded bouncy blonde into his arms. "It's a new day, lovergirl—I think we need to start all over again at one—"

"What . . . about . . . breakfast?" she murmured, kissing her way across one of his broad, bare shoulders. Licorice chuckled softly and rolled with her until she was on top of him, a satiny weight of sleek flesh and long, golden hair.

"Later. much later---"

00oo00oo00

Sugar Daddy looked over, across the stretch of crystal-fine sand towards the three women frolicking in the surf. The two girls were tanned and smiling; playing little games of splash tag with each other and drawing interested glances from young men all up and down the beach.

His attention however, was on the statuesque goddess who ambled in the knee-high waves, brushing back the long strands of her mahogany hair. She was pale, and while her mint bathing suit was modest compared to the bikinis that the girls wore, she still made a striking, curvaceous figure against the blue of the water.

She looked better. Still not quite her old, confident self, but on the mend with each passing hour, and Sugar Daddy felt hope rise within him. This vacation, with all of them together was just what they needed—a chance to share without pressure; a moment to value time with each other.

They were, he realized, a family of sorts—lovers, parents; sisters and daughters.

"Hey!" Miss Lollipop called out, waving lightly to him. "Come on in, the water's lovely!"

Sugar Daddy smiled, set his book down, and climbed to his feet, undoing his shirt.

Vacation.

Oh yeah.


	3. Chapter 3

Candy Shop: Off the Clock Chapter Three

Henry sighed happily.

Deep in the basement of the Truman Tower, the Candy Shop was on skeleton crew, working light and enjoying a little down time. At the moment only he, Jujube and Mr. Cinnamon were on duty, and all of them were preoccupied with spring cleaning and tidying up old files.

It was nice. Honestly, Henry loved his job—being a travel agent was a pleasure, but knowing he worked for a crack team of maverick agents made things that much more exciting. He never knew on any given day if he would be booking trips to Cologne, or Cancun, or the Coachella Valley.

And the requirements! Miss Lollipop always needed a room with a northern window. Mr. Peppermint insisted on staying at independent hotels and refused to check into chains unless it was part of his case. Jelly Bean needed a window seat on any flight he took. Licorice never flew coach—on and on, with everyone needing something special.

It took a clear head and a great memory to keep all that in mind.

Added into the mix now was the dog—although Henry actually liked the little guy. Thank God Grenadine was ex-show, so he knew all about traveling. And he never whined about his accommodations, unlike certain other Candy Shop employees. Henry sighed and checked his watch—time to pick up the mail.

He wandered to the elevator and took it up to the lobby, then made his way to the mail room behind the information desk. Pixie Stick had already sorted out the Shop mail from the stuff for the rest of the building, and Henry idly flicked through it: a few gun catalogs for Mr. Cinnamon, a stock prospectus for Jaw Breaker, a copy of _Weekly World News _for Bubble Gum; _Fortean Times _and _The Bookman_ for Mr. Peppermint; and a handful of postcards.

Henry carried all of them back to the elevator and began thumbing through them, smiling.

_(Author's note: Candy Shop will be on hiatus until April 9th. To see the fabulous postcards Henry received, please stop by Cincoflex's LiveJournal page. Thanks!)_


End file.
